


Not all who wander are lost

by undermybreath



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3506066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undermybreath/pseuds/undermybreath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>emma knows where she is going. regina does not.</p><p>sometimes, you have to take the long way around.</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning of a perfect storm

They have been out together, having dinner. Nothing else really. And that’s why Regina is so surprised when Emma offers to walk her home – she’s not even drunk, 2 glasses of red, tops – and even follows her as she walks through the door to her mansion. 

“You’re staying?”

There’s hope attached to the words, as they tumble out of Regina’s mouth. 

Emma shrugs then, smiling like she always does when she’s not quite sure of herself. She shifts from one foot to the other. 

“I was thinking maybe we could have a few more drinks, maybe listen to some songs? Henry set up Spotify on your laptop last week.”

Emma nods towards the computer on her desk in the study. Ah, yes, Regina remembers their son mentioning it, promising _it would open your eyes mom, seriously, there are other things to listen to besides the Boss_. He had finished his statement with a smirk. So very Emma-like, when poking fun at her.

“Of course. Let me grab glasses and… wine?”

“Whiskey, if you have some.”

“Of course.” 

Regina gives a quick smile and nods, making her way to the kitchen, while Emma slips into the study, red leather jacket being shrugged off her shoulders only to be tossed over the back of the couch. 

Once Regina returns with a glass of red and a tumbler filled with her best whiskey (that really, she bought specifically for Emma, but those are things never to be discussed) she is met by the sight of Emma seated on the floor, back against the couch, laptop settled on her crossed legs. 

She reaches for the tumbler, eyes leaving the screen for just a second.

“Thank you.” 

She takes a quick sip and grins as the alcohol goes down. 

“So you need to listen to this song.”

Regina places herself on the couch, a safe arm’s length away from the blonde who is, to say the least, very excited about sharing her latest music discoveries. This could be good, she thinks. This could be fun. 

This could be the beginning of a disaster.

4 glasses of wine and probably an equal amount of whiskey-filled tumblers later Emma, who is still sitting on the floor, eyes closed and fingers tapping against her thighs rhythmically, lets her head fall back onto the soft cushion of the couch. She turns and looks at Regina through hooded eyes. 

“Come here.” 

“Excuse me?”

“I said” Emma shifts her entire body so she’s almost facing Regina where she’s sitting, legs tucked underneath her own body “come here.” 

She’s pulling at Regina’s legs now, gently, playfully. 

And maybe it’s because Regina is definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol now, or maybe it’s because she’s sure Emma is and perhaps won’t remember much of this tomorrow, but she allows herself to be guided down until she finds herself laying on her back on her expensive rug, staring at a crack in her ceiling that has never been quite as fascinating as it is right now. 

“Okay, so…” Emma begins, her words amber colored as they’re passing over whiskey-stained lips, placing her legs on either side of Regina, her hands carefully lifting the older woman’s head to let her dark hair spread itself across the soft rug and the inside of Emma’s thighs. “I want you to close your eyes and listen to this song. I mean really listen.”

She reaches over and Regina can hear the click of the mouse before the speakers are filled with the sound of Ben Howards’ _Keep Your Head Up_.

“This makes me think of road trips I’ve taken.” 

Emma decides to not elaborate further at this time, closing her eyes and letting her warm fingers, skin rougher than Regina’s, get entangled in her dark hair, drawing small circles on her scalp. 

It feels good. And too intimate. 

Suddenly Regina is hyper-aware of her own body and every single movement, however small, feels too calculated. So different from Emma’s, whose upper body is swaying gently back and forth to the melody. Sweet, sweet Emma who is somehow giving of herself so freely now, requesting nothing in return. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind Regina knows she shouldn’t allow for this to continue, but her body, every nerve ending, is responding. Wants to curl up into Emma’s embrace and bury her face in the crook of her neck. 

She knows Emma’s scent now. They’ve hugged before and God, Regina’s eyes close as she takes a deep breath at the memory of it. 

When she opens them again she finds Emma leaning over her, smiling the kind of lazy smile you do when your world is slowing down and everything is good and you’re content and there is a lightness to your being.

Regina wants that feeling too. Wants Emma to bring her to that space in her own mind, and not to over-think the position of her hands as they sneak up under and around Emma’s strong thighs until they’re finally resting on top of the dark denim. 

She drums with her fingers a little to the beat providing, she thinks, the necessary excuse as to why she needed to place her hands there in the first place. In case Emma was wondering. Thought it strange. 

She is still just smiling down at her and Regina is beginning to feel herself being pulled across that elusive line you aren’t supposed to cross when you are friends and you share a son and your whole perfect fragile world could fall to pieces at one wrong turn. 

Emma sighs and leans further down, her blonde hair cascading down around Regina’s face, tickling the bare skin on her neck. Their noses touch and Emma, Emma, Emma silly carefree contented Emma places a kiss on the side of Regina’s soft lips as she hums along to the chorus.

Regina’s breath hitches and her eyes seek out the faint constellations of freckles on pale skin, as if though she’d be able to find answers to what should follow there. 

Emma just grins and bumps her nose against Regina’s once more while letting her hands cup the older woman’s face.

“Your skin is ridiculously soft” she whispers and Regina can’t breathe. Can’t formulate an answer to that, that doesn’t sound outrageously stupid in her head. So she decides to be brave instead, braver than she has been for a very long time, and let her own fingertips graze over Emma’s cheeks. They stay like that for a while, silently exploring with feather light touches. 

“Sorry. Is this weird? Like overly intimate?” Emma asks suddenly, laughing. 

Regina freezes. 

“No, I- Why would you ask that?”

She’s trying hard to seem unaffected. Like her entire body didn’t just shut down on her and now she doesn’t know how she’ll be able to move away from this; to escape this perfect storm that’s brewing. 

“I just…” Emma laughs again, giggles really “I- I’m sorry, I must be invading your personal space right now, I get clingy when I’ve had a bit to drink.”

Well, that answers that.

“Don’t worry about it” Regina replies as she pulls herself up off the floor.

For a second Emma looks so genuinely perplexed at the sudden turn of events that Regina has to hold back a sob.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I just need to use the bathroom. Excuse me.” 

Regina straightens her dress as she exits the study and when she finds herself staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror she’s suddenly furious, absolutely furious with herself for thinking that this was anything other than Emma being intoxicated and a particularly touchy-feely drunk. 

Her fingers graze the corner of her mouth that Emma kissed. 

This is stupid and it will end right here. She will march out there, call a cab and send Emma home to sleep it off. And then - she can feel the resolve grow stronger - then she won’t speak of this ever again. 

And she absolutely won’t dream of blonde hair and freckles that form constellations and whiskey-stained lips.

She absolutely won’t.


	2. Mostly about things not said

“So, what’s going on with you two?”

She looks up from the cup of coffee that, much to her surprise, is now cold to the touch. She must’ve lost track of time and when she catches her son staring, one eyebrow raised, she briefly wonders if minutes turned into years somehow because she could’ve sworn he was not actually seventeen when she went to bed last night. Was he?

“What do you mean, dear?”

“Mom, stop.”

He pulls out a chair and sits down, reaching for his own cup of coffee. He takes it with too much sugar and really, there is always more milk than coffee in there when he finally takes a sip and Regina thinks that, surely, that’s just _one more thing_ to blame Emma for.

She sighs and he continues, undeterred by her obvious refusal to divulge what happened.

“Ma’s been texting me all morning. Apparently, _you_ aren’t answering your phone and she thinks-“ he pauses and takes another sip, adds even more sugar to the god awful concoction (she _refuses_ to refer to it as coffee now) and grins when he catches her rolling her eyes “did you two have a fight? Is this about grandma?”

“No, we didn’t have- wait, what about Snow?”

Henry rises and walks over to grab some cereal and a bowl from the cupboard.

“Never mind that” he casually throws over his shoulder and then continues as he pours some milk over cocoa puffs (and when, exactly, did her house become filled with so much sugar? Oh. _Emma_.) “so… you _didn’_ t have a fight then?”

She clasps her fingers together as she rests her hands on the kitchen table, looking very much like the Mayor she is, answering questions at a press conference.

“No. We didn’t.”

There’s a pause. Henry ponders the response and chews and chews and swallows.

“Oh.” he says then and smiles, no wait, he smirks. He’s _smirking_ at her.

“What do you mean _oh_? What- Henry, wait, where are you going?”

“Sorry Mom” he replies, already heading out of the kitchen, bowl in hand, spoon resting in his mouth. For a second she considers scolding him and _what if you fall with that thing in your mouth?_ but then she thinks _seventeen_ and remains quiet. “I have to get ready, I’m already running late.”

“Where are you off to?” she questions as she hears him take the stairs two steps at a time.

“I have rehearsal today!"

Oh. Somehow that had slipped her mind and she instantly feels bad about it. Her son had written and was now also starring in his first play and she and Emma were both wrecks, imagining opening night.

“Our son’s a regular thespian huh?” Emma had said, quite proudly, when they’d been strolling along the harbor together, like they did every Thursday.

“New word of the day?”

“Maybe” she had responded, and a lopsided grin had made an appearance. 

The sound of the front door closing brings her back. Her son is jogging down towards the front gate and Grace, upon spotting Regina where she now stands by the kitchen window, waves and smiles before they take off together.  

Alone once again, she leans back against the counter and upon a sigh she closes her eyes. Remembering last night’s kiss and beautiful constellations and soft skin has her stomach- well, it’s- she most certainly should not be feeling this way. And most definitely not over a kiss, an _almost kiss_ really, from Emma Swan.

Idiot carefree _careless_ Emma Swan.

Emma who had resorted to texting their son in lieu of Regina answering her phone and something she’d written had apparently sparked an interest and then that damn _oh_ which made her feel like there was much more to that conversation than Henry had let on. Of course, she will have to actually discuss this with Emma if she really cares to know and frankly, she doesn’t.

She most certainly doesn’t.

***

“Are we ever going to talk Regina, or are you just going to continue to ignore me?”

“What do you mean, Miss Swan?” and she almost pulls off looking as perplexed as she had that morning, when Henry had begun questioning her. Almost.

Emma sighs and sits down on the bench and for a moment they just stay there in silence, staring at the ocean. Then of course, with Emma being, well, _Emma_ , she can’t just let things be but has to poke. Poke, poke, poke and thank God there are no bears in Storybrooke.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Regina!”

“Miss Swan, I-“

“Ok, stop. Just… stop.” Emma stands and briefly looks away, before letting her gaze find Regina’s once more. “I messed up. OK, I get it. But don’t do this. Don’t Miss Swan me.”

Regina opens her mouth to say something, but Emma manages to cut her off before she even gets the chance to start.

“Look” she takes a deep breath “I obviously had a little too much to drink and what I did, well, it was inappropriate and I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes, and it won’t ever happen again. I promise.”

Oh.

_Oh._

_“_ I see.” Regina stands and brushes some imaginary dirt off the hem of her coat. “I have to get going. Henry mentioned something about Snow this morning so I thought I would-“ she pauses at the expression that comes across Emma’s face. “What? What did she do?”

“Well” Emma begins and smiles that damn lopsided smile that makes Regina weak in the knees “she might be planning something special for you. You know, for your birthday. But you can’t tell her you know!” she rushes to say as Regina rolls her eyes.

“Fine. I won’t.”

Really, what’s another secret to keep anyway?


	3. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pause and then Emma is looking directly at her, ocean eyes and waves crashing. And there is such beauty in surrendering. 
> 
> “I think there are worse things than thinking you deserve to be happy Regina.”

They are sitting on the bench again. It’s Thursday and it’s been exactly four days since the _almost kiss._ Regina wishes it had been just as long since she last thought about it.

The salty ocean breeze is whipping her dark hair against her face and she absentmindedly touches the soft skin just around her left eye. She can imagine the salt settling in the fine creases, deepening and elongating. Making her look at least a little closer to her actual age.

Most days she’s glad the clock is back to ticking, and other days…

“It’s weird, isn’t it? That it’s been almost 2 years already?” Emma speaks next to her, as if having heard her thoughts.

Regina follows her gaze and finds it focusing on space that used to harbor a ship but is now filled with nothing but the absence of. The absence of a large wooden body. The absence of the man who’d guide it across oceans and realms.

The grimace is instantaneous. It’s almost Pavlovian at this point.

“Good riddance” she says, eyes now on the waves that are crashing against the pier; white foam and dark blues and greens roaring briefly only to sink back into ocean. And there is such beauty in destruction.

“Well” Emma begins, shrugging and smiling like maybe she knows what will follow.

Her hand brushes against Regina’s thigh as she grabs the edge of the bench and shifts her weight ever so slightly.

Regina pretends not to notice the way something inside of her expands and grows and grows.

“He was never good enough for you, Emma.”

And there is such light in those eyes when they meet her own that her chest feels so tight. Too tight.

(A quick inhale, so nothing breaks.)

“And, frankly, he always thought too highly of himself.”

Emma laughs then.

“Yea, he did. But it was nice to feel loved, even if I…”

A pause and then Emma is looking directly at her, ocean eyes and waves crashing. And there is such beauty in _surrendering._

“I think there are worse things than thinking you deserve to be happy Regina.”

Is this what drowning feels like?

Regina’s response is a curt nod because she can’t continue down this path. Not when the walls have been closing in and there used to be an exit but now there’s just _it was a mistake_ and _it won’t happen again, I promise_.

***

Her study appears to be glowing. The light from the setting sun is painting everything in a warm orange tint.

The cider remains untouched but her fingers around the cold glass twitch every so often, as she looks through the photographs in the album resting in her lap.

She’s been in this world for 35 years but there are no saved memories prior to 2001. Prior to Henry.

When she turns the page there are images from the missing year. From New York. From parks and picnics and visits to the Museum of Natural History where Henry’s grin is all teeth and his eyes seem to sparkle as he points to the giant Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton behind him in the Hall of Saurischian Dinosaurs.

The one underneath is of him attempting to give Emma a baleful glare after a seagull had stolen his hotdog. They had been at Coney Island and Emma had laughed and laughed and laughed.

The picture is a little blurry as a result, but even so, Regina can see how much he looks like Emma in that moment. And she realizes she can’t remember when that thought stopped being anything other than a reminder that he’s _theirs_.

Emma had given all the pictures to her and said: “It’s kind of strange, you know. I mean I get that it would be, because I have two sets of memories in my head, but I look at these and… It almost feels like… Like we did it together. Raised him I mean. Like we were a family.”

Regina had smiled then and looked away because _maybe we still could be_.

Henry walks in and plops his ever-growing body down on the couch right as she’s adjusting a photo of her and Robin. She can’t remember when it was taken but her smile in it had already begun to look forced. She wonders if he noticed. Even back then.

“Hey mom, feeling nostalgic?” he says and grins before his sees the picture she’s focused on.

“Oh.” He’s watching her and her sweet, sweet boy looks suddenly so concerned. She takes his hand and marvels at how her own becomes so small in comparison. (Some days she’s glad the clock is ticking, and other days…) “Do you miss him?”

“No” and it’s an honest answer. She doesn’t. Instead she misses believing she could be happy. That someone could look at her and _it was nice to feel loved, even if I…_

“But you were supposed to be soulmates” he continues. Gentle, gentle as he prods.

“People change. And, I guess, their souls reflect that.”

The answer seems to relax him, the way his shoulders become less tense. And she’s thankful. Glad that she won’t have to explain the despair, the horrible ache, the _frustration_ when something’s supposedly made to fit and then it just… doesn’t. And how _predestined_ becomes something like a weight on your chest when you lie in bed next to him and suddenly you’re struggling to breathe.

Henry leans his head back against the sofa and looks up at the ceiling. He does this for just a second or two before turning to face her again.

“You know, I read this quote the other day. I can’t remember who said it, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. It said there are people who are right for you, and people who are wrong for you. And then there are the people that you just choose.”

She watches him. Swallows and tucks her hair behind her ear and her spine becomes just a little straighter. “Henry…”

“I just think- Mom, I just think that maybe it’s time you got to choose.”

His cheek is so warm against her palm as her thumb caresses the smooth skin and she tries hard not think about how much it hurts, the way that he now _understands_. Because her hand is small compared to his, but he is still a child.

“I chose you.”

“Yea” he grins, placing his hand on top of hers. “I’m glad you did.”

And something inside of her expands and grows and grows.

**Author's Note:**

> each chapter will most likely be rather short. but, hopefully, this means updates will happen frequently. (odds are that's a lie.)


End file.
